Glitterati indeed. Glitter, leather, lace, mile-high stilettos, and a ponytail Ariana Grande would envy.
“Ritchie.” Nat’s girlfriend, Bex, pulls me into a hug. “You sexy bastard, how’ve you been?”
“Good.” I hug her back, then I look over her shoulder to meet the gaze of the stunning woman behind her. Waves of honey-brown hair spill over bare shoulders. She has flawless skin and wide brown eyes framed with sooty lashes. Familiarity tugs at my brain.
She must be the model friend Nat had mentioned, but why does she look so familiar? I barely ever open Instagram, so it can’t be from that. And why is she craning her head to look into the green room?
“I brought someone who wants to meet you guys.” Bex lets go of me and I step back to let them in.
Jacks sits up, eyes wide when he sees Bex’s friend. His jaw drops open and that’s when recognition hits me like a train.
“Ade!” He jumps to his feet and then the two of them are shrieking and hugging, holding onto each other like they never want to let go. They draw back.
“It’s been—”
“I can’t believe—”
They both laugh, and then they’re hugging again. Bex pulls me aside.
“I was at my club in California, having drinks with a director friend and some of their crowd. Ade was there and she said she grew up with Jacks but hasn’t seen him since she went to California for school. I talked her into coming back with me.”
“This is incredible.” I watch the two of them and smile. “I haven’t seen him smile like that in ages. Thank you.”
“Let’s let them catch up. I know they follow each other on Instagram but it’s not the same. Come get a drink with me.”
I follow Bex back to the bar where Nat and Teri are waiting with a statuesque Black woman in a yellow dress.
“So, Ade wasn’t sure if Jacks would want to see her. Bad memories and everything.” Bex says as we walk.
I shake my head. “His bad memories aren’t of her. She was the best part of his childhood.”
“Good. Ritchie, this beauty is Kortney—Ade’s fiancée.”
The woman in the yellow dress—Kortney—steps forward and shakes my hand.
“It’s a pleasure,” I tell her. “Ade is a really special person.”
“She is.” Kortney smiles at me. “And from what I understand, so is Jacks. I’ve heard about nothing else since Bex told us she was living with the lead singer of Vertical Smile. Did you know Ade and Jacks shared a table in kindergarten?”
Bex moves to stand between Nat’s legs, which Nat wraps around her, completely unselfconsciously.
“What a small world,” Nat says. “That the two of you happened to be at the Rose that night, it’s kismet.”
“Definitely.” Bex agrees. “And Ade’s such a delight—one of the rare people who lives up to their Instagram hype.”
“Whatcha drinking, Ritchie?” Farrah appears at my elbow and sets a coaster on the bar.
“Whatever Chardonnay you have open that hasn’t gone all oxidized,” I tell her. She nods and places a glass in front of me. A moment later she comes back with the bottle and fills it with a generous pour. She leaves the bottle on the bar with a smile.
“So, how did you meet Ade?” I ask Kortney, dying to know about her connection to the girl who saved Jacks from himself so many times over the years.
“We both were up for the same internship in college. Loathing at first sight because we were so competitive and so similar. But then neither of us got the internship, so we went out to commiserate and it turned out when we got drunk and talking we had more in common than a résumé.”
“And you’ve been together ever since?” I ask.
“Oh, hell no. We lost contact after graduation, but then we were both hired to model for the same lingerie campaign two years ago, and it was like—fireworks.” She puts her hands over her heart. “We moved in together about a month later, and we’re getting married next fall.”
“Married—wow, congratulations. I’m happy for you both.”
“Thank you.”
I feel Jacks behind me before I hear him. I turn to see him and Ade walking toward us, hand in hand. It instantly takes me back to the days when they would come to Glitter Guerrillas shows together and stir up the dance floor—a pair of not-quite-legal tornadoes.
“Hi, Ritchie.” Ade lets go of Jacks’s hand and reaches for me. I scoop her into a hug.
“Hi, Ade. Missed you.”
She flushes, then moves like she’s pulled by gravity to Kortney’s side. “Korts and I have a suite at the Jefferson. Would you two like to come back to the hotel and hang out, like old times?”
Jacks looks at me with pleading eyes, and I can’t resist him. As much as I want to resume the shenanigans we’d started in the green room, he deserves this time with Ade. But I have to open the restaurant in the morning.
“Jacks, why don’t you go with them? I have to open at work tomorrow, and I need to get to bed.” Alone, apparently. Not that I begrudge Jacks time with Ade, especially not after all these years.
“Are you sure?” Jacks asks. “We can crash there—you could go straight to work from the hotel.”
I smile tightly. “No, you guys will be up all night chatting. And you should stay up all night chatting. Go, be with your friend. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I watch them leave with a curious pain in my heart. I’m not jealous of Ade, but at the same time, I’m sad he’s leaving with her. His good moods seem reserved for everyone but me.
“All right, buddy?” Teri kicks my shoe, and I look back at her.
“Yeah. Just wondering where that guy has been lately.”
She shakes her head. “He’s been around. Where’ve you been?”
“Good question.” I shrug. “I should go. I’m not going to be good company tonight.”
Back at the apartment that feels empty without Jacks, I settle onto the couch with my bass, picking out a bass line for a song I’m oddly reluctant to write.
I know it’s good. I can feel it all the way down into my battered sneakers. Lyrics elude me, but that’s okay. I have the melody, the chorus, the bass line. Lyrics will come. With Nat’s help? Maybe. Maybe not.
I put down the bass and dig through the drawer until I find a half-smoked joint and a lighter. I take a deep drag on the joint and hold it in before letting it out slowly. Then I put it out—I don’t like to get very stoned by myself when there’s no one around to talk to. Just a little buzzed sometimes when I find it hard to settle.
I move around the apartment, straightening things in the kitchen, putting away the dishes from the strainer. Then, still a little buzzed and a lot calmer, I lie down on the couch and wonder if Jacks misses me as much as I miss him when we’re apart.
I can’t get the new song out of my head, and it makes me feel uneasy.
Jacks takes my hand as we walk up the stairs to the rehearsal space Sunday afternoon. He’s carrying his sticks in the other and I have my bass over one shoulder. It feels almost like before. Holding hands, going to practice. Thinking of new songs. I’ve barely seen him all weekend because he’s spent it catching up with Ade, but she and Kortney left for Los Angeles early this morning. He doesn’t seem sad about saying goodbye though, more excited about having her back in his life and looking forward to seeing her again.
Nat and Teri are already in the room, warming up. Nat sings her way through scales, and Teri tunes her guitar.
“Hey, you two.” Teri grins up at me. “Ritch, Natty tells me you have something new for us?”
“It’s not for us,” I reply, throwing an irritated glare Nat’s way. “She shouldn’t have told you that.”
“I want to hear it anyway,” Teri demands. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
I continue to glare at Nat, but she shrugs. “Let the bees out, Ritchie.”
And I know what she means—she once described a panic attack to me like a swarm of bees trying to escape from her chest. But
I don’t have panic attacks. At least, I don’t have bees in my chest like she used to. Not unless what she really meant by bees was being irrationally annoyed at the people you’re supposed to care about the most.
“Fine.” I hold out my hand and Teri passes me the guitar. “This is the melody.” I pick it out carefully. “This is the rhythm.” I strum a few bars, then hand back the guitar and take my bass out of its soft case.
“This is the bass line.” I work my way through it while Jacks watches me from behind the drum set. He starts playing along, a simple rhythm, then adding in some flourishes as he gets comfortable with it.
Teri begins to strum, watching me for the changes, and Natalie sings the melody. I change keys moving into the chorus and start playing faster. Teri follows. I take over when Natalie stops singing, and a smile breaks across Jacks’s face like a sunrise. We play through the verse again and let the last note hang in the air.
“Anyway, it’s something like that,” I say, shrugging.
“It’s good,” Teri says. “But I see why you say it isn’t for us. Are you going to do some solo stuff?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Nat asks. “Bex will help you get the word out. She knows so many people in the industry.”
“No,” I repeat. “This isn’t what I want. Can we just play our regular set now?”
Nat blanches for a moment, then her face goes serene and gentle—I’ve seen her use that face with Jacks. “Sure, Ritchie. Maybe we can start with ‘Crave you?’ and work on that transition with the new version of the bridge?”
I nod. “Okay, let’s go.”
Jacks is quiet as we leave rehearsal. Sundays, we often spend the evening with the band, but both Teri and Nat found reasons to head their separate ways, which leaves the two of us alone.
“Why are you being like this?” Jacks finally snaps at me. “They were only trying to encourage you.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be encouraged. I don’t want to do solo shit. I don’t want to try new things or make a new style of music or change who I am.”
“Nobody wants you to change who you are, Ritchie. We’re family. We love you.”
“Well, seems you all have a weird way of showing it, what with the encouraging me to branch out and do things that aren’t for the Smile.”
“The Smile is only one part of our lives, babe. Why shouldn’t you have more? Nat and Teri do.”
“We have jobs too.” I point out. “They aren’t better than us because they’re self-employed.”
He sighs. “I’m not talking about jobs. I’m talking about lives bigger than the band. Teri’s got an art show coming up in a gallery in Williamsburg. Bex is acting as her agent now. Did you even know about it?”
I shake my head, stunned. I’ve known Teri since middle school. I never knew she was making new art. “When did she tell you that?”
“Yesterday. She wasn’t sure how you would take it though. She’s thinking of inviting Farrah.”
I scoff. “Right, like that’s going to happen. She’s been obsessed with that girl for ten years and can barely talk to her.”
“After I—” He pauses, then brazens through. “—After I tried to kill myself, she decided life was too fucking uncertain to play games. So, she’s asking out the girl. And so, she made the art—and Ritchie, it’s really good.”
I’m sure it is, but for some reason, I don’t want to know about it or hear about it. “So is her tattooing.”
“Maybe she wants to do more than tattoos. Maybe she wants to make art that will live longer than the person she’s etching it into.”
“What about the band?” I’m practically shouting.
“What about it? We’re all solid. We have our regular Thursday gig. We’ve booked more and more Saturdays lately. Bex is talking about a tour this summer and she can probably make it happen. We don’t have to stop doing this because we also have other things in our lives.”
“We almost lost it, Jacks. We almost lost you.”
“But you didn’t, Ritchie. And you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to realize it.”
He speeds up, putting several feet between us before I even have a chance to register what he’s said. Does he really think I don’t realize he’s still with me? Does he really think I don’t wake up every day thankful he’s still in my arms?
I speed up after him, finally catching up on the train platform.
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking his hand and bringing it up to my lips. “I never meant to make you feel as though I wasn’t thankful you were still here.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s not even the problem, Ritch. I’ve talked to my therapist. Nat has talked to her therapist. Teri poured her entire heart into her art. The only one who isn’t moving on is you. You’re stuck, and it’s killing me. I’ve broken you, and I hate myself for it.”
“I’m not broken.” I plead with him. “The last thing I want is for you to hate yourself. I’m moving on. Wasn’t it nice, the other night, when we, you know?”
“Yeah, you fucking me was nice. It was so nice, I’d like to do it again sometime if you didn’t make me feel like you were afraid I’d off myself while you were getting a towel for the wet spot.”
My jaw drops. “I never meant to make you—”
“Do you hear yourself, Ritchie? You’re a broken record about what you never meant. If your actions keep having an impact that isn’t what you meant, then maybe, just maybe, you should think about why that is!”
He pulls his hand from mine and crosses his arms over his chest, not looking at me, not touching me. And not only like he doesn’t want to, but like he can’t stand to. Guilt punches me in the chest.
The train roars into the station and I follow him on board. It’s crowded, nowhere to sit, but I try to give him space where we stand. I study him in silence: the sharp lines of his cheekbones, his elegant nose, the stubble over his chin. There are hints of the boy he was when we met, but the hardships of his twenty-seven years have etched a sturdy determination into his features that he never showed back then. Is it possible these last few months, I’ve been so terrified of losing him to what I saw as a weakness, I never noticed his strength?
“Jacks,” I say softly.
He ignores me.
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes flicker up to meet my gaze, and then he looks away again.
Maybe sorry isn’t going to be enough this time. But as we step off the train and I follow him back to our silent home, I am determined to do whatever it takes to show Jacks I can be who and what he needs. That I can believe in us—in both of us.
Chapter Twelve
Monday afternoon at the end of my shift, I take off my apron, toss it in the laundry, and before I can change my mind, head over to Bridgeview to see if I can chat with Farrah. Since the bar is closed, I knock on the delivery door and wait.
“Ritchie?” Farrah looks around, eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping to talk to you.”
“Come on in.”
Farrah was a couple of years older than Teri and I were, and she’d worked at Bridgeview as long as I had known her. It wasn’t until we’d been playing there for a few years that I learned her fathers owned the bar, and that she planned to take over when they retired. Basically, her entire twenties had been an internship—and she was as much in charge now as she would be when she owned the place.
“So, what’s up?” Farrah’s long red hair was tied up in a messy bun and her face was clear of makeup. She led me to the bar and hopped up on a stool. “You aren’t one to come by just to hang out while I do inventory like Teri does. Is everything okay?”
“It’s great.” I sigh. “Well, no. It’s not. I was hoping you might have a bartender position open. I’ve been working lunch shifts ever since Jacks—” I stopped, unable to keep going.
“Since Jacks.” She touches my hand gently. “I understand, go on.”
&n
bsp; “So, I hate working lunch—but I gave up the good shifts so I could take care of him, and now I’m not only not making any money, but I’m also on an opposite schedule from him. I’m looking for a change.”
“Have you ever tended bar before?”
“I’ve waited tables for more than ten years, and I’ve covered shifts in the service bar sometimes. I can open a bottle or pull a pint, and I know how to mix a lot of the basics. I can learn the rest.”
“What’s your availability? I know you need Thursdays off.”
“The rest of the week, I can be available whenever you need someone.”
“Saturday nights we get pretty in the weeds even at full staff, and we’re typically short Tuesdays for Open Mic Night. We also stay busy on Fridays. I can’t give you five days. I might be able to give you four if someone calls out sick on one of the other three days. However, you’ll definitely clear more in tips on Saturday night than you would in two days of lunches at a restaurant.”
“It sounds perfect. When can I start?”
“Tomorrow night?”
Relief sweeps over me. I can give notice at the restaurant in the morning, and they’ll send me home before the shift is over—I’ve seen it happen enough to know they won’t keep me around for two weeks. I nod.
“I’ll get your paperwork.” She disappeared into the office behind the bar and came out with a clipboard. “I do inventory and ordering on Monday afternoons. If you need a few extra hours, I can always use help with that. It’s shitty, boring work, but it needs done.”
I nod. “Thank you, yeah, I can help with that.”
“Welcome to Bridgeview.” She hands me the clipboard.
On my way home, I pick up a bottle of cheap champagne at the bodega down the street and let myself into the building with a whistle on my lips. Jacks is closing tonight, and I’m hoping to catch him before he goes to work so I can share my good news.
But when I open the door to our apartment, it’s dark and quiet. The couch is folded up, and it looks like Jacks has done some cleaning.
“Jacks?” I call out. Nothing. A chill runs down my spine. I practically run to the bathroom and throw the door open, expecting to see him bloody and unconscious on the floor.
Out of Sync Page 13
